What do I do now?
by LW91
Summary: Overall it's about John dealing with his sorrow. Sorry,I'm not very good at this...it's my first very first fan fiction,so please be kind,I still have doubts about it but wanted to share it. I'm not mother tongue,so please forgive me if my English isn't perfect.
1. Chapter 1

It was already six weeks since she was gone, but John still couldn't get over it. He felt guilty: Simmons had come after him, his number had been up, he was supposed to be the one, he was the target … if only he had had his gun he could have saved her, instead he had seen her die in his arms, without being able to do anything. Elias had taken care of that son of a bitch, and he was glad for it, not as much as he would have if it had been him to do it, though. He would have liked to take care of Quinn too, but after the assault of some tall, dark and deranged, FBI had moved the guy to a much safer place, somewhere no one could ever find him, not that John hadn't tried, but by the time he had woken up even the tiny tracks the Feds had left were gone. John had left Harold alone with the psycho and the loose canon that was Shaw, but there was no choice, he didn't feel like sacrificing his ass for strangers anymore. In almost three years he had saved so many people, even those who didn't deserve it, but now he needed time for himself, he needed to be alone for a while, not to think, that was the only one thing he should avoid, but simply because he didn't feel like going on with her memory still so vivid. At the beginning Finch had understood, was rarely talking to him but never let him alone, was it only because he feared an extreme act … and actually the bullet was still there, tempting as ever, waiting for its owner to make up his mind, but inside there was that voice that kept telling him "she wouldn't have wanted this". She wouldn't have wanted it, that was the only thing that kept him alive, if his was life … he was dragging himself through the city like a ghost, without any hope, without feeling anything other than despair and sorrow. His heart was still aching, he was bleeding inside, the physical wounds might have been cured, but inside he was dying. He believed everyone deserved a second chance, everybody except for him … his demons had never left him, except for when he was with Joss, and when Finch had told him his number was up, he had just looked at her, being glad she had called him, being happy he could spend his last moments with her.

- No one I'd rather be with at the end.

He had told her, she had smiled, probably not really reading between the lines of what he was saying. Then that son of a bitch had shown up, taking away the only thing that had allowed him to go past the darkness he had been through. That day at the precinct, when they first met, she had saved him without even knowing it, starting from then he had felt like there was still a reason to go on, she had made him believe that not all human beings are rotten to the core, that there are _some people the world can't afford to lose_, some people who made living on this corrupt planet a little better.

Finch had respected his will of being alone for a while after he had left the team, but John had soon started to see either Lionel or Shaw pop up, carelessly asking if he was ok once they were caught following him. Harold had called Zoe too for the purpose, but nothing could keep him away from his sorrow. His Joss was gone, there was nothing that could make him feel better. He did feel she would have wanted him to go on, but there was no way he could do that, not yet. After the shooting he had woken up, looking around, recognizing the safe house, he had looked for her too, thinking, no, hoping that the foreseeing Finch had saved Joss too, but then he had remembered seeing her close those beautiful eyes forever … sorrow hit him like a ton bricks, he felt like having his own heart ripped out, but anger had soon taken the place of pain, out of despair he had jumbled everything, without a care for the not yet totally healed wounds. Finch was out, only Bear was with him. The dog had barked out of happiness once he had seen him open his eyes, licking his hands, but he had soon understood his owner wasn't ok, and once he had seen him make that mess he had gone hiding, having never seen John act like that. Reese had put on his bloody clothes and gone out, looking for Simmons. Revenge wasn't the answer, he knew that, but hell, that son of a bitch deserved the most painful death he could give him. Nothing could have stopped him, he had ignored the physical pain, had left his phone in the safe house in order not to be disturbed: he needed to wake up the _real monster_, and he did. But at the exact moment he had been about to end Quinn, Finch had shown up, reminding him that _she_ wouldn't have agreed.

- Mr. Reese … you know what Joss sacrificed to bring this man down on her terms … legal terms.

Oh, he knew it, he knew she had sacrificed everything to bring down Quinn and HR; she could have killed him, hell, one word from her and John would have gladly done it himself, but no, she wanted to do it legally, and that cost her life. So not even being once again reminded that she wouldn't have wanted that had stopped him, but the gun had misfired, like the ultimate sign Joss wouldn't have agreed. He had slept for the next three days, and that had been the last time he really had, actually, once he had woken up, insomnia had struck him, not allowing him to close his eyes for more than a couple of hours per night. He had stopped answering to Finch's calls, and when his friend had become insistent John had just thrown the phone in the Hudson. The only reasonable thing he was always doing was checking if Taylor was ok; the boy lived with his father now, so he was safe, but John kept guarding him, simply because he had made a promise to _her_.

He was in the park, sitting on a bench, looking at the sky, wondering if she was looking after him from heaven. He had heard someone approaching, but didn't care about it.

- For the thousandth time I shall remind you, Mr. Reese, that Joss wouldn't have wanted you to give up your life like this.

John looked up at Finch.

- And for the thousandth time I tell you leave me alone.

- I can't keep watching you go on like this, you must react!

Harold, despite Shaw and Fusco's warnings about Reese's possible violent reactions, came closer and sat next to him, looking at him in the eyes.

- Weeks have passed, I've given you time, but now I must insist …

- Like you never have, right, Finch?

- I'm doing this for your own good.

- You wanna do something good for me? Just leave me alone.

- You forget there are people who care about you, we're all worried.

John smirked. He couldn't imagine Shaw being concerned about him, or anybody.

- You don't have any number to take care of?

- Miss Shaw is doing it right now.

- Good, so you don't need me.

- It's not a matter of need, Mr. Reese, it's about you throwing away all you've achieved.

- And what have I achieved, Finch? What? I've been saving strangers for three years and was never able to do the same for _my_ people, the ones I cared about.

- You couldn't have done anything for them, it's not your fault!

- I shouldn't have let Joss take the bullet for me, I should have died in her place!

- Yours is just survivor's guilt.

- And yours is useless talking. For the last time, Finch, leave me alone!

Harold felt his friend was beginning to lose his temper, and he knew how dangerous he could be when out of control, but didn't move.

- I just want to help you, John. You can't keep going on like this.

Reese didn't answer but just stood up.

- Keep yourself away from my sight, Harold, it's for your own good.

He said, then walked away, leaving a stunned Finch on the bench. Once he came back to the Library, Harold found Shaw playing with Bear.

- Any luck?

He shook his head, then asked about Mr. Longman, the number she had taken care of while he was talking to John.

- Everything in order. The guy was scared but got it.

Meanwhile John was once again losing himself in alcohol, trying to forget his pain, never succeeding, obviously. It was 3 in the morning when he fell asleep, dreaming of her again, waking up more aching … that had been his daily routine since weeks. Always the same dream: there was this gorgeous silhouette, he kept running trying to reach her, but always failing. Once again he woke up in a sweat, stood up and went at the window, looking at the empty street. Even New York, the city that never sleeps, was now being silent, commemorating the angel that had encountered a premature death. John felt his eyes filling with tears, but didn't try to stop them. Tried to go back sleeping, but ended up staring at the ceiling, as usual. When the sun rose he just stood up, put on the first clothes he found and went out. Like always, he approached the house of Paul Carter, seeing Taylor come out. Every time he saw the boy John couldn't help feeling a little smile come up to his mouth, thinking of how similar Taylor was to his mother, but then he remembered that she was gone and subsequently felt that familiar pang in the heart that reminded him how much he missed her. He followed Taylor from afar, and left only when he saw the boy entering school. He turned the corner and found a man waiting for him.

- Thought I found ya here.

- What do you want, Fusco?

- Glasses' s worried, says you're looking always worse.

- So he sent you?

- Nope, someone called cops … there's some suspicious tall guy in a suit sticking around the school.

- I made a promise.

- Yeah, but the boy's safe, HR's dead.

- Not all of 'em.

- Quinn's going to get what he deserves.

- Seriously, Lionel? You seriously think that son of a bitch won't make it this time too? He has too many friends.

- Carter's evidences are enough to put him in jail for the rest of his life.

John smirked. In his mind jail wasn't enough. Joss had suffered way too much because of that man, it wasn't revenge, it was justice, Quinn deserved death. He hadn't stopped trying to hunt him down, but Feds had done their job, no one knew where he was. However, there was someone that could find the answer … someone who had particularly taken advantage from all that mess. John didn't know about the special relationship Carter had with Elias, so when he came to know the mob boss had had Simmons killed, he just thought it was revenge for himself, for how he had been treated. The new Godfather, as Elias was now called, had regained the control of the city, and without HR and the Russians to worry about, nothing could stop him. John had seen him a couple of weeks before, having found one of his refuges. Elias' men, except for Scarface, had instantly taken out their guns once they'd seen him appear from nowhere, but with one gesture the boss had calmed them down.

- Had I known, I would have prepared something special.

He said, with his usual smile.

- To what do I owe the pleasure, John?

He continued. Reese looked around: there were three men in the room, plus Scarface and Elias, all of them, except for the boss, were carrying a gun and were looking at him sideways, but John wasn't scared, hell, he'd faced much worse than a couple of ominous minions.

- I need a favor.

He said. Elias nodded, and with a gesture sent his men away; before leaving, Scarface looked at John, telling him just with the eyes that he'd make him pay for it if he'd try anything against his boss, then he passed him, not before having slightly pushed him with his shoulder. John didn't react, he had no will of fighting, plus it would have been counterproductive.

- What can I do for you, John?

The boss asked.

- You know what I want. Quinn. Where can I find him?

Elias smiled.

- I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I can't help you.

- You can't or you don't want to?

The boss' smile became wider.

- You see, I could give you what you want in a couple of days, but then I'd lose my chess partner.

John smirked. It was so Finch … he had to think he would have contacted Elias to get Quinn. Reese left without saying anything else, knowing it would have been useless. He didn't stop looking, he called even Zoe for help, knowing she wouldn't have said no, and she didn't, but her acquaintances weren't enough, Quinn remained untraceable, so John just gave up. He spent the next weeks doing the same things every day: wake up, check Taylor, spend the rest of the day hanging around the park, checking Taylor again now and then. His routine was interrupted only by Finch visiting him only to repeat the same things over and over again. Six weeks and his pain hadn't relieved, not even a bit, he felt like it was yesterday that she had breathed her last breath in his arms. Fusco was still looking at him, lost in his grief.

- Look, we all miss her, but life goes on.

John knew he was right, but he just couldn't let her go, not yet. They had been walking while talking, and once they stopped, John found in front of him the diner where he and Joss had met a couple of times. He remembered the first meeting after he had been shot by Snow and his mate. Carter had betrayed him after he had saved her life, but he wasn't mad at her, he understood, she had been fooled by those CIA guys, he knew Snow was a very good liar. Remembering moments with her was way too painful for John, every time he simply heard her name or think about her or see something that reminded him of her, he felt his heart aching, like it was being squeezed, and the sight of that diner was no exception. Fusco saw him stop all of a sudden, looking in the diner, he looked at him, not understanding what he was doing.

- You've see something interesting?

He asked, receiving no answer. John was already lost in his memories. Meanwhile Finch was answering a phone call from the Machine: another number. Once he came back to the Library he found out whose number was, but when he did, he felt his knees trembling … Grace Hendrick's name had come up.


	2. Chapter 2

Despite his quiet nature, Finch couldn't help panicking. He was just staying there, staring at the screen. He couldn't believe that someone would hurt such an angel as Grace was, that she could be the perpetrator wasn't even an option. For the first time in his life, Harold didn't know what to do, didn't have a practical and quick solution, in a word, he felt powerless. His first impulse was to call John, and he did, but the phone rang and rang, no one answered, then he remembered his friend wasn't carrying any. His only option was Miss Shaw, but how could he tell her without saying too much? John knew about Grace, she didn't.

We have a new number?

Said a familiar voice from behind him. Harold was so lost in his thoughts that hadn't seen Shaw coming, not that she usually announced herself, though, which really annoyed him.

Could you please stop doing this?

He said, with an exhausted tone, like he had been repeating the same words over and over again. Shaw ignored the request and approached him, looking at the screen.

Who is she? Victim or perpetrator?

She asked, quite excited.

Of course victim!

Bawled Finch. She looked at him funny.

You know her!

He didn't answer but the look on his face said everything.

I need to find Mr. Reese.

He said, after a moment of silence.

Why? You think I can't handle this?

Finch didn't reply, so she continued.

Reese doesn't want to be found, remember?

Harold knew it, and also remembered the words of his friend and his menacing tone: "_Keep yourself away from my sight, Harold, it's for your own good"_. John had never been so intimidating, not with him, only once he had heard that tone, and it had been when chasing that Jennings who tormented his wife, and even then he didn't really think John would have shot him, but now, losing Detective Carter had been way too painful for him, and Harold could tell from the look on his face that he was still aching. He missed her too, but his pain was nothing compared to John's, his friend seemed to have lost not only faith in the cause but also in him, if he ever had any. Their friendship had grown from the beginning, Harold knew he could rely on Reese, not because he paid him, but because they were more than friends, they were almost brothers, such a friendship Harold had had only with Nathan. Of course John still didn't know much of his past, but after all neither Nathan knew which dark secrets Harold Wren was hiding.

Who is she?

Shaw asked again. He wavered for a moment, while she was looking at him, waiting for an answer. He tried to come back to rationality and talked about the love of his life like he would have about any other Irrelevant number:

Grace Hendricks. 45. Illustrator. Attended Rhode Island School of Design …

He tried to keep control, but his voice was shaky, and Shaw noticed that, so interrupted him.

No, I mean, who is she for you?

Just an innocent woman who needs our help.

Shaw didn't say anything but it was clear she didn't believe him. They remained silent for a moment, then she asked for Grace's address in order to take a look at her apartment, as they usually began their missions, but Finch didn't answer; he still wasn't sure he could trust her, and, knowing about her soft spot for "action", neither was he sure he could entrust her with Grace's life; if only John had been there! At least he was reliable, his methods were less than legal neither really moral, yes, but he cared, Shaw just wanted "some action".

Meanwhile, his friend was still lost in his memories, without even hearing Fusco's questions about what was he thinking about. John was in another dimension, like a movie, he was rewatching in his mind all his moments with _her_. From their first meeting at the precinct, when that beautiful woman had gone beyond appearances and had offered him help, to that night when he saved her: that night he had done his best, when Finch had told him _her_ number was up he had thought he didn't mind being arrested, as long as he could keep her safe, he would have accepted being locked up; from their very first friendly meeting in that diner, the one he was looking in right now, to all the times she had helped them. A sense of guilt hit him like a punch in the stomach when he remembered he hadn't been there when she needed him, namely, when her boyfriend got killed, when she was demoted … after Rikers he had felt their bond was becoming too strong, so yes, he had feared it could go _too_ farther, during the interrogation he had felt some kind of connection between them, something he had felt only with Jessica … but he wasn't ready to move on, not emotionally, with Zoe was one thing, it wasn't hard, he didn't even open up with her, but Joss would have required commitment, serious commitment, she deserved better than just a "special friend", she deserved his everything, starting from the heart, not that she didn't have it, but it was him not to be ready to commit, to start over … losing Jessica had been way too painful for him, he had lost himself, he didn't want to feel the same pain again, and yet he was now there, dying inside because he had lost Joss too. He hadn't questioned himself about his feelings for her till Shaw had made him notice, that night when she, Joss and Zoe had been baits for him and Finch, that night when he had felt jealous of her for the first time, so jealous that at some point, when that Ian Murphy had kissed _her_, he had felt like punching him in the face, that night when he had walked Zoe home but had been thinking about Joss all the time, and when he had kissed the first one he had found himself wishing it had been the other one. He had tried to rebuild their bond, but she was so into her battle against HR, and probably still mad at him, that was always kind of rejecting him, not directly, she talked to him, yes, she was answering his calls, was helping the Team, but never opening up, never telling him how she really felt, no matter how many times he asked, she was always saying she was ok and didn't need anything. She had finally called, their special connection had apparently been restored … too late, though.

Fusco's phone rang, but having seen who was, he just handed the phone to John.

It's for you.

But Reese ignored him.

Goodbye, Lionel.

He said, then walked away. Fusco remained there looking at him for a while, then took the call.

Where is _he_?

Asked Finch.

Gone.

Replied Fusco, then heard the other sighing through the phone.

You need anything or just wanted him?

I was hoping I could talk to Mr. Reese, but actually, yes, I do need your help, Detective.

Thought so.

I need you to dig into Samuel Harrison's file for me.

Who is he?

Lionel knew that asking why was useless.

Mr. Harrison is a general practitioner who's had some problems with the NYPD last year. He may be involved in a case we're working on right now.

I'll see what I can find.

Meanwhile John was going back to his senseless new routine. He kept walking, without knowing where to go, till he bumped into someone who was running from a couple of crooks. The guy had probably stepped on the wrong people, he thought. Reese looked him in the eyes for a moment, too little to understand something, enough to see something familiar. The boy had soon restarted his run away, being followed a couple of minutes later by two other guys probably of the same age or a bit older; he was tall, dark hair, blue eyes … in a few words, a young John, who smirked, thinking about it: the boy could have been something less than 20, at his age Reese had already joined the Army, even if not really willingly. Helping people had become pointless for him, but he unconsciously tripped the crooks, without really knowing why. The guys looked at him for a moment, but then just stood up and started chasing the boy again; they had seen the gun behind John's back, but it hadn't been that to scare them, it had been his expression, better said, the lack of expression on his face, like he had no heart, no soul, nothing, like he was a ghost … and that was how he himself felt, actually. He stood there for a moment, watching the boy run away from the other two, then began walking again, but couldn't help thinking of how it could have been if that boy had been his son, if he had made some different choices, for instance if he hadn't chosen to join the Army again after 9/11, if he had said no to that guy from Langley … those were things he had wondered many times, even though he had found out that was actually the life he was made for. He wondered what would have happened if Finch hadn't hired him, if he hadn't had that fight on the subway … there you are, the fight … his mind came back to _her_, a thought he had abandoned even if just for a single moment. _She's gone_, that was his only thought now, _what do I do now that she's gone?_ He had asked himself the same question after Jessica's death. It seemed like he couldn't have people to care about, like whoever became important to him was doomed to death … his father first, then Jessica, now Joss … Finch could have been the next one … now at that thought, for the first time after he had left the Team he realized he had made a really selfish choice, his friend needed him, was worried about him, and yet he had not only sent him away, he had threatened him … he wasn't sure if Harold would have respected his will, but he found himself wishing he both did and didn't at the same time, because on one side, he knew he needed help to recover, but on the other side he himself feared his possible reckless reactions, he himself feared the monster he still had inside …

A couple of hours later Finch was standing in Washington Square Park, watching Grace come out of her apartment, then Shaw getting in. He had reluctantly given her the address, but it had been his only choice, since John wasn't there and he certainly couldn't risk to be seen by Grace. The name of Samuel Harrison had come up while checking her file: they hadn't been dating, like he had instantly feared, feeling the inevitable sting of jealousy, but he still didn't know what could such an angel have to do with someone who had been detained for violent behavior. In fact Fusco had called a couple of minutes before, explaining that Mr. Harrison had been involved in a fight in a pub.

Nothing important.

Had said Lionel.

A violent fight isn't noteworthy for you, Detective?

Had replied Harold, anxious because his Grace knew such a man as Samuel Harrison seemed to be.

I mean he was released soon.

What were the circumstances?

Usual. A pub, a bunch of drunk crooks … it happens.

Was it the Detective to take it too easy, or was it him to exaggerate? Had thought Harold. Was he making a mountain out of a molehill only because his Grace was involved?

He looks like the perfect citizen. That fight is the only stain on his file.

A perfect citizen doesn't get involved in a violent fight, Detective.

What are you suggesting then?

I'm not sure.

The call had ended with Fusco promising he would go pay Harrison a visit, but it hadn't reassured Harold. Nothing could reassure him, nothing except for being absolutely sure Grace was safe. When Shaw came back she couldn't give any news that would help them clear the dilemma: Grace's apartment was clear, she wasn't hiding anything.

She looks like a red haired Cinderella. I wouldn't be surprised if she had birds fixing her hair.

Commented Shaw, while Harold looked daggers at her.

Come on, Finch, just tell me who is she. I promise I'll keep the secret.

She asked, chuckling. He just sighed.

See you later, Miss Shaw.

He simply replied, then walked away, leaving her with a puzzled look on her face.

**Meanwhile in Queens.**

We gave you a chance, Sam, you wasted it.

Please, just give me one more day, I promise you'll have your money back! Please!

But they didn't listen. A dull sound and a couple of hours later the NYPD Homicide was there.


End file.
